


Three's A Crowd

by downdeepinside



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Sherlock not being able to sleep is my fave, Sleep, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepinside/pseuds/downdeepinside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for an anonymous prompt on tumblr; 'Sherlock mpreg where he's really uncomfortable in the middle of the night with triplets and John manages to help him get more comfortable and get him back to sleep. Fluffy please!'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three's A Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill; this is mpreg so watch out, and I don't own Sherlock. Furthermore I'm a lazy ass so there may be typos, if you point them out you get a cookie.

Sherlock kicked back the covers for the fifth time in an hour and slowly forced himself out of bed. He placed a hand on his enormous belly and took a few clumsy steps. John blinked awake, rolled over, and frowned at the behind of his partner.

“Sh’rlock?”

The man in question grunted, rubbed a hand along his back, and walked out of the door without another word. Three minutes later the boiler gurgled and the sound of the loo being flushed could be heard as John scrunched his nose in sympathy. The army doctor rubbed his eyes, flicked on the bedside lamp, and sat up in bed.

“Sherlock?” he called again. No answer came this time, but a light flickered to life outside of the bedroom suggesting the detective was either in the kitchen or lounge. John sighed and pushed his side of the duvet back, “She-”

“Go to sleep John.”

The words were bit out harshly and only enunciated Sherlock’s exhausted physical and mental state. John had pulled on his dressing gown and was in the living room within seconds, taking a moment to appreciate what his love had become. At six months with triplets Sherlock really was _gravid_ , and as he lay on the sofa (stretched out as much as could, which really wasn’t much) he looked as if the three children lying on top of his abdomen were going to crush him. Some small animal instinct part of John growled as he saw the large swell of his detective’s stomach and thought how it had been _him_ that put it there, _him_ that carved those stretch marks, and _him_ that helped create the tiny little feet poking out of Sherlock’s stomach.

His eyes wandered to the pregnant man’s face and it was a very different story.

Dark circles shadowed Sherlock’s eyes, which were drooped half shut from fatigue. His dark hair was flat and pressed to his face on one side while sticking out eccentrically on the other, and his lips were twisted and pressed together to the point they barley seemed to exist at all.

In short, he looked tired: And irate.

 “Oh, love.”

Sherlock blinked blearily and looked up to John, a hand prodding a tiny (very active) foot while the other was simply dropped limply on the floor.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice was a little hoarse, as it often became when he was overtired or emotional; John would happily wager he was both right now, “They won’t stop _moving_ , and it’s _impossible_ to get comfortable with three children attached to your front, and I’m bloody _tired_ but I can’t get to sleep and it’s really,”

“Not good?” John cut in, knowing Sherlock was only going to get himself more worked up. Sherlock’s jaw clicked shut and he sighed before nodding.

“I just want to go to sleep.”

John smiled a sympathetic half-smile and knelt down near Sherlock’s head, since there wasn’t an inch of room on the sofa designed for two but currently housing four. “I know, I know,” he reached out a hand and ran it through Sherlock’s hair, rubbing at the man’s temples a little in the way he liked so much, “Are you comfortable now?”

Sherlock thought for a moment before shaking his head, “My shoulder hurts and my stomach feels like two toddlers are having a boxing match in it.”

John resisted the urge to laugh, aware that Sherlock hadn’t intended to make a joke but was genuinely describing how he felt. He shifted his stance a little before standing up and offering his two hands to Sherlock, “Alright then, up you come.”

Sherlock’s confused expression lacked only a large question mark floating just above his head.

“You’re uncomfortable and tired, so I say we get you into bed.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but instead a yawn consumed his words and he shrugged, taking John’s hands and awkwardly hoisting himself off of the sofa. Immediately he pulled a hand free to rest on the small of his back and cringed, “I feel like I’m old and fat – Oh God. I’m Mycroft, aren’t I? I’ve turned into Mycroft.”

John couldn’t help laughing this time. Silently, he guided Sherlock back to the bedroom.

“Do you need to pee?”

Sherlock paused before slowly looking over at John like he was insane, “What?”

“You… ah, just, do you need the loo? You don’t want to get into bed and get comfy and then... need to get up again.”

Sherlock paused another moment, as if thinking, before shaking his head and freeing himself from John’s grip so he could lie down in the bed, “No.”

John hummed and padded over to his side of the bed, getting in and then pulling the covers up over both him and his detective. He flicked the light switch off and stifled a yawn; right now it was about Sherlock. He turned to his right and stared at Sherlock’s back for a moment before prodding it, “That won’t help your shoulder.”

Sherlock grunted but made no effort to move.

John rolled onto his own side and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s belly, tugging gently, “Come on, roll over and lie on your back. Your shoulder won’t hurt as much and it should stop the strain on your lower back muscles.”

The bed creaked and huffed as Sherlock pushed on it to roll himself over. Once he was on his back he turned to look at John expectantly, “And?”

John leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, “And you need to relax,” he snaked a hand round to rub over Sherlock’s belly, just light circles in the flesh and small taps on various limps that poked out – slowly, the movements decreased. Sherlock’s breath was shallower when he next spoke,

“John,”

John shushed him gently and ceased his rubbing, instead wrapping his legs round Sherlock’s thighs and keeping his arm loosely draped over his belly.

“Go to sleep, love.”

Sherlock sighed softly.

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are always lovely :-)


End file.
